PHOTO POMPT © Douglas M. MacIlroy
“He’s a squawker, ain’t he,” Bill asked over the baby’s frantic cries.
“You’re holding him too tight.”
“You’re going to hurt him.”
“I ain’t gonna hurt him. What’d you care anyway. It’s just a stinky bird.”
“It’s not…… it’s….” She didn’t know, but it had wings. One day it could fly away, be free.
“Dumb bitch.” He squeezed his fist around the baby bird then tossed it aside. Onto the concrete. Walked inside.
She fell to her knees beside the tiny body, crying for broken wings.